The Manifesto
by Ananke
Summary: The Chute, with alterations.


Disclaimer: Star Trek: Voyager and all related characters property of Paramount Studios. No copyright infringement intended.

-

Harry Kim looked down.

The knife in his hand burned in the rancid air of the Akritirian prison, threatening with every second to slip through his sweaty palm. His breath caught.

"I'm not a killer."

The alien hustler stared. "Do you want to survive in here? You'd better learn to be."

He hesitated.

Zio moved forward, leaning in. "Go on. Make a choice. Is your _friend _worth saving"

No hesitation then. "Yes."

"But is he worth dying for as well"

The knife burned. He almost dropped it.

Almost.

_Harry, didn't anyone ever tell you almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades?_

The alien's voice slipped a notch lower, grating. "Make a choice. Your friend is dying already. The least you could do is make it easy going. Wouldn't you rather end it for him than see someone else do it"

"You won't touch him" Back off, try to focus. It became a mantra…back off, try to focus…try to focus…the Ensign screamed, a short and unsatisfying burst of frustration. "I'm not making a choice for you"

"Not for me. He's nothing to me. For you."

"Why won't you just leave us alone, find someone else to pick on"

"Like I said, you're not just anyone else. You've got potential. I'm just wondering if you'll use it." Zio stepped away, spreading arms. "Go see about your friend. I'll wait."

"Don't bother." Straightening tense shoulders, Kim turned back the way he had come. He kept the knife.

The noise was within the shelter was incessant. Paris had the pipe…what remained of the pipe. The few critical pieces that had made it _worth_ something lay scattered over the rough, dirty deck, pulled apart and bent…those not broken altogether. It wasn't even just the deranged deconstruction…the muttering was incessant too.

It had to stop.

"Tom." Voyager's Ops officer said wearily. "Let me have that."

"No."

"I may be able to salvage it. Come on, Paris."

"No"

The pilot's face was taut…sickness and worry had etched shadows under normally vivid blue eyes, drawn out normally hidden cracks…not laugh lines. There was no mask this time, nothing gay or sarcastic shielding emotional wounds.

There was nothing but stark, crazed paranoia.

Balling filthy, bruised fists up, the Ensign turned convict took a shaky breath, loosening the knife in hand and shoving greasy hair back. "Look, I know you're hurt, but it's the clamp too, you know that. Get control of it. You can help me with this. Remember…remember how you figured out how to realign the aft thrusters when B'Elanna was at her wit's end"

"I had to fly on those thrusters."

"Yeah…yeah, see? You'd like to fly on those thrusters again, wouldn't you? We have to get out of here, Tom."

"It's too _late_, Harry."

"It's not too late! If you would just let me have the pipe, I just need a little more time…I can think of something. I'll get us out of this somehow. I'll get us out of this."

Icy blue eyes stared back incredulously, clarity creeping through. "No, you won't. There isn't anyone who can get us out of this. Voyager's probably in the next system by now, and you couldn't even intimidate someone out of a _shelter_."

"I was trying to protect you."

"Well, if that doesn't just make me feel better! Go on, go on, don't let me stop you now." Rising to feet in a whirl of movement, the pilot threw both hands out, wielding battered components like scepters. "Let's give it up for Ensign Kim, defender of the righteous and protector of the downtrodden"

"At least you're sounding a little more lucid, even if your tone could be better. Now sit down before you fall down."

"Not joking, Harry."

Desperation forced back…patience, drawn from a sputtering source. Breathe. He had to remember the breathing. "I'm not kidding either. Give me the pipe."

Sharp chin-bone jutted forward belligerently. "Why should I"

"We're not getting anywhere with this, Paris! Come on"

"Of course we're not getting anywhere. There's nowhere to go, its space. What, you think I didn't know by now" A sneer laced the low drawl. "Makes sense, doesn't it? If we were underground, we'd be mining. I can do that, you know. Don't mind it. Hell, repetition is the key to sanity. But no, we're not underground. Not on a planet either. We'd be field lackeys by now, or parked in some remote desert playing survival games. It doesn't pay to lock prisoners in on a planet. Thought maybe we might be dead, but I've come too far now to start believing I've got anything resembling a soul. I guess that leaves space. That makes sense too. What I just can't figure out is why you haven't already climbed your way out an airlock and ended it. You're stronger than I though, Harry."

"Shut up. Shut up and give me the pipe."

"I don't think so. I _like_ it."

Calm descended. Fingers curled around the blade, ignoring stinging and thin trickles of blood. "You're making a mistake, Tom."

"It wouldn't be the first time, now would it" Paris shrugged, sauntering forward a few paces. Close enough to touch…close enough to burn. Hot breath, hot skin, furious gaze. The fever of madness smoldered. "What would you say, Harry…what would you say if I told you a secret"

"What are you talking about"

"I lied to them, Harry. I sold you out to the Akritirians. I told them that you were in on the attack. I told them that you were a terrorist."

"That's crazy. You wouldn't do something like that." Backing up a step and staring at deck plating that groaned under weight, the Ensign shook his head in denial. Rust, there was so much rust. A sharp bark of laughter brought his eyes back up. "Why would you do something like that"

"It's not that hard, once you've had practice. I guess I thought they were easy, like you."

He lunged, shoving a hundred kilos of solid muscle and sharp bone into the nearest wall. The pilot fought back, long fingers digging into shoulders, a knee crooking but halting before impact. Silence. Ragged breath. Something stirring…there. Easy.

_"Do whatever you like, Harry."_

"I want to put you out of my misery."

Paris stared, eyes wide for a long moment. Finally, laughter began to bubble up. "I should have let the others have you."

Something…something broke. Despite all effort, rage crept upward, overpowering all attempts at rationale. A shaky hand moved from pale skin and tattered tunic material, the knife skimming upward. "One more time. Let it go."

"_No_."

Carving. Curves. Cut. Admiral's brat screamed. The fervor built. _Give it, give it, give it_…the knee jabbed. Not strong enough. Sick. Blood puddling. Paris spitting his own blood.

"Not. Easy."

The pipe, used as ineffectual defense. Impact. Not enough.

"_Harry_…stop…"

It would take just a little more, a cut, one more warning. _Just give the pipe_. But there was too much blood…too much quiet…quiet.

It was just a pipe.

Drawing away, Kim stared around. The makeshift shelter was far enough away from the masses to be quiet…too quiet. No one knew yet. Something perversely like relief surged upward. He didn't want it to be known, to be seen.

All too soon, footsteps came. All too soon, Zio bent close, hot breath dancing on feverish skin. "I knew you wanted to survive."

"Get out."

"You may have just proved you have mettle, but this is still my space." Dark alien eyes glittered. "It can be our space."

"Get out or I'll kill you next." The words came without second thought, emptily.

The uneven hum and rasp of alien laughter echoed, but Zio obliged, backing out with hands spread mockingly. "I've got the manifesto. See you after dinner."

"Keep your crazy manifesto and stay away from me" The scream was as unexpected as the rush to stand and blade pressed to a pulsing throat.

Zio chuckled again, stepping quickly back through the makeshift entrance to wipe crimson blood off unbroken skin. "Whatever you say, kid, but you did it."

_You did it._

Turning away from the wracked and bloody corpse of his best friend, Harry Kim retched.

-

It only took a few hours for him to come back, food offering in hand. "There's another chute."

Briefly, the haze parted. Rocking on aching knees, Harry tore eyes away from his best friend. "Another…what do you mean another chute? Why didn't you tell me before"

Zio shrugged, downing his own and speaking between bites. "I didn't think you would want to hear about it. Nothing comes down. Outgoing to a fan…it's how we get rid of our carcasses."

"No."

"He's dead. And he's gonna stink."

The heat was unbearable…the heat. Fast rot.

He rocked.

-

"Mister Kim."

Her voice. It was hard for even the stunned deaf to miss. Her hand, silken caress on filthy face.

"Harry."

He turned to look. The knife…where had he put the knife? He needed to give her the knife. Tuvok would want the knife. "I killed him, Captain."

Pity…he had never hated her pity so much before. Gravel lowered to smooth comfort, the hand caressing again. Kathryn Janeway stood, exchanging a lingering look with her security officer.

The Vulcan nodded, stepping forward to extend a dark hand, weapon holstered. "Ensign. If you would rise."

Strong. There was no way to escape within this grip. There was no way to fall.

Harry Kim closed tired eyes and let the transporter beam carry him away.

-

It had been days, days of restless pacing in sickbay and then in his own quarters, days attended by a never-ending stream of well-wishers and curiosity seekers. Eventually, the ensign had decided to break one more rule and beard his Captain in her den uninvited.

"Why won't you punish me"

She moved slowly, taking a lingering sip of coffee before looking up, no surprise evident. "I don't believe that you had any control over the situation."

He balled fists in frustration, swinging them at sides. "How can you say that? I've never experienced more clarity in my entire life than I did in that moment. I _stopped_, Captain. I had the pipe…I was going to hit Tom with it, and I stopped. Then Zio handed me the knife…"

"And"

"Zio was right! Tom should have already been dead. He was just dragging me down with him. I had to cut him loose, I had to survive."

"Stockholm Syndrome."

"Zio was a prisoner too."

His captain nodded, moving to stand and circumvent the desk. "But was he an innocent, Mister Kim"

"How can you know? How can any of us know"

"I know that no one on this ship cares for Tom more than you do, Harry. And I have no doubt that you would never willingly betray him."

"You see, that's just it. I did betray him. I betrayed him just like everyone else ever betrayed him."

"Ensign, we've spoken enough for now. You need to rest."

"I don't want to rest! I want…" He wanted Tom. That was all. He wanted Tom. The fists unclenched, trembling taking over.

Janeway nodded, seeming to accept the unspoken. She moved, touching the comm panel on her desk and sending a silent missive. "Have faith, Ensign."

"Coming from a scientist like you, that's funny."

A smile touched her lips. "Indeed it is. Embrace the rarity. Be patient."

The ready room doors opened before further retort could be given, the slender, energetic form of B'Elanna Torres striding through. The half-Klingon halted several steps short of reaching them, shooting a look of question to her commanding officer. "Captain"

"B'Elanna." Voyager's captain folded arms. "I believe it's time Harry visited Mister Paris' quarters again."

Of course. That was to be the punishment. He would be expected to take Tom's meager life apart; piece by piece…put it away, make it as if the tortured helmsman had never existed for everyone else on this ship.

"Harry" B'Elanna tapped a shoulder, dark eyes impatient.

He bowed his head and followed.

-

It was dark, cold. Paris' quarters were bigger than his…and they had never seemed so empty.

Leaving his escort at the door, Kim moved slowly through familiar territory, touching items in passing. A vase replicated by Jenny Delaney…a matching planter from Megan Delaney. Tom had kept reminders of his lovers as casually as recycled padds. Something to fall back on, he had said. You always had to have something to fall back on.

Eyes stinging, the Ensign took a fast breath, moving on, further into Paris' habitat. A half empty bottle…Romulan ale, in plain sight?...sat on another table, two empty glasses beside. Two…

Entering the bedroom was hardest. Blue civvies lay tossed across the one chair, a spare comm badge atop. The sheets were rumpled, pillows used. That last night must have been a restless one. Of course it had been a restless one. Hadn't he refused to be there?

Stopping the inventory, he moved eyes to the view port beyond the pillows. The stars were the only thing that stopped the claustrophobia, or so Tom had once said.

Enough of the memories.

The closet was sparse. There were the uniforms, a half dozen of them, neat, and that same amount in civvies, nearly all in shades of blue. To the back were the costumes. How he had loved the holodeck. It had been the only place beside helm where he had felt real. Letting the door shut again in frustration, Kim fell against it, slamming forehead head against cool titanium. "I can't do this."

"You can't do what, Harry"

His breath caught.

"Sorry I missed your entrance, I'm still trying to get the stench of that planet out of my hair…but I've been wondering about you. The Captain said you would be by soon, but I was about ready to break Doc's SIQ order and go find you myself." The lighting went up, a familiar form sauntering across the room, scrubbing at head with towel. "What's wrong"

"You're dead."

"Oh" Pale brows rose sharply, blue eyes glinting with seeming amusement. "I wish someone would tell me these things."

"You don't understand. I'm not joking. We were in that Akritirian prison…you were sick. You were delusional…"

The pilot shook his head slowly. "Harry, that's not what happened. I escaped. Voyager beamed me up after they found you. The Akritirians released me from custody. I didn't find out what happened to you until Voyager found my biosign on the planet and beamed me up."

"No, no. You were there. You saved me, you were hurt saving me, and then you got sick." _I sold you out to the Akritirians. _The Ops officer straightened, moving a pace forward and staring sharply. "How did you convince them to release you"

"Well, it wasn't that hard. I guess I'm a smooth talker. I guess you aren't." The grin was a near punch in the stomach.

"I killed you."

"My stomach is killing me. And you still owe me a steak from that last betting pool, if I recall correctly." Motioning to the main room, the pilot offered his own look of question.

"You don't understand."

"There's nothing to understand. We made it back. What happened there, I don't want to think about a minute longer than we have already." Moving to the table, his companion poured both glasses, offering one. "It's pretty damn good. Tal gave it to me. Here, take a seat. We've got some catching up to do. Has Doc said when he's letting you back on duty? I'm pressing Chakotay for a day or so. I need to fly again. A person can go crazy locked up…"

Falling back onto the sofa obediently, Voyager's Ops officer stared in bewilderment. "Paris…"

The other man stretched out beside his friend, glancing sideways. "What is it"

Kim sighed, downing half his glass in one go. "Shut up."

Tom Paris narrowed both brilliant blue eyes, staring intently. "I do have one question."

"What is it"

"How are you planning to back up that demand"

-

Finis


End file.
